


Live to Love

by Ramzes



Series: Targaryens: Times of Glory [18]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All three sons of Aegon the Unlikely wed for love, in defiance of their father's wishes and to the sorrow of the realm. This is their story. A sequel to A Queen To Be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rhaenyra Targaryen had just received the news of her royal father's death. Dark wings had brought dark words. Loyal friends at the capital had alerted her that her brother Aegon had just claimed the crown, with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard proclaiming him King Aegon, the second of his name. She was anxiously twisting the rings on her fingers when the book was unceremoniously taken out of Jaehaerys' hands. He sighed wearily.

"What do you want, Duncan?" he asked without bothering to look who it was.

His eldest brother grinned. Snow was still melting in his hair into a dirty pool all over Jaehaerys' clean carpets. His indigo eyes shone.

"Come on, little brother. I am going out. Do you care to join me?"

Jaehaerys hesitated. Cold was never good for his frail constitution, yet the preparations for the tourney could not leave even him indifferent. Knights trained day and night. Ladies whispered and prepared their very best gowns, making sure that they had enough ribbons, sleeves, and scarves to give away as favours. Smallfolk also loved tourneys – they made a good piece of vendor's businessq with all the knights and visitors who were coming in a flow. Besides, jousts were always joy to watch. At night, Jaehaerys often stayed awake late, listening to the excitement of the city. He wanted so much to be part of it, yet his birth, his duties, and his bad health separated him from the cheerful mood.

"Yes," he said. "I do."

The surprise on Duncan's face was so plain that it was comical. It was Jaehaerys' turn to grin. "Well?" he said. "Are we leaving? Or did you mean that we would go tomorrow?"

Duncan's surprise faded and he took Jaehaerys by the hand, lest his brother reconsidered.

"But no guards," he elaborated.

Jaehaerys lifted a fair eyebrow. "Of course not," he agreed and they did their best to keep as low profile as possible, just in case someone saw them and their attempted escapade reached their father's ears – or worse yet, their mother's. They would never make it to the gates without a squadron of guards. Maybe even a Kingsguard or three. When they passed by the part of the castle where the most highborn guests were lodged, they called Robar Baratheon, the heir of Storm's End, to join them.

The three young men happily headed down Aegon's Hill. Jaehaerys looked incredibly white and fair-haired between his swarthy dark-haired companions. He pulled his hood down, for this silvery-gold hair of his would give all of them away and they would rather disappear in the crowd. He inhaled the cold air deeply, although he knew he shouldn't. But it felt so refreshing.

"If your father gets to know about this, he'll be angry," Robar whispered.

Jaehaerys smiled. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I don't care about his anger. My lady mother, on the other hand…"

Next to him, Duncan shuddered.

The main streets were full of people. Vendors sold as many goods as they would normally sell for a month. All stores were seething with customers. Jaehaerys checked that his hood was in place once again and waited until his brother and friend went over various shields and spears. For a while, the two of them argued whether round shields were better than rectangular ones or the other way round. Finally, each of them bought his shield of choice, unable to convince the other one that they were in the right.

In a small goldsmith's store, they made the goldsmith show them all his best things. Finally, the two princes chose a necklace of emerald and rubies for their mother, a slim sapphire bracelet for their aunt Daella, and a silver chain for their sister Rhaelle. For a while, Robar stared at a ruby ring but didn't buy it.

"Is it for your lady mother?" Duncan asked and suddenly whispered in a low voice, "If you're short of money, how much should I lend you?"

Robar blushed and failed to answer. Behind his back, Jaehaerys shook his head reproachfully at Duncan, although they were both smiling. They knew that their friend would gladly present their sister with the jewel but he didn't dare…

Duncan bought a slim silver tiara, too, inlaid with nine star-shaped sapphires.

"Who is this for?" Rhaelle asked in the evening. "It's beautiful."

Duncan grinned. "Not for you, sister dearest, if that's what you think. I'll give it to my lady as soon as I crown her Queen of Love and Beauty tomorrow."

Rhaelle looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So there is _a_ lady?" she asked. "What a relief. I already imagined how we'd have to tear the laurel in petals to keep all of your ladies pleased…"

From his place near the window, Aemon snickered. Annoyed by being laughed at by an eight-year old, Duncan glared at both him and Rhaelle. None of them was impressed. Aemon kept petting his hound; Rhaelle kept sewing.

"Hey!" Duncan protested. "I am not _this_ bad."

"You are," Rhaelle and Jaehaerys chorused. "Besides," Jaehaerys went on, teasing him,"are you so certain that you'll win? I hear that Robar is making a rapid progress…"

"Well," Duncan said easily, "that's my problem, right? He won't be as easy a rival as you would be should you decide to enter the lists but…"

The silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable. The fact that Jaehaerys would never be able to enter a tournament was a fact that they all knew – and never discussed. Had he not been the King's son, he would have probably never been knighted. His premature birth had left him weaker compared to Duncan and Rhaelle. Each childhood illness had found its way to him, leaving him paler, thinner, more fragile. Even now, when he was grown up, he might start choking at a new scent his mother wore. His arms were so frail – he could never hold even a lighter sword for long. Bets were constantly placed about when he would die. People talked derisively behind his back, thinking him weak and unmanly. But no one had ever said anything to his face – courtiers would not dare and while his siblings had mocked him as children, now they realized that it would be downright cruel of them. Jaehaerys knew the truth better than anyone else. He didn't need it being shoved down his throat.

Duncan's face went white. Rhaelle's head snapped up and her eyes bore into him.

"But I didn't mean…" Duncan stammered. "I only…"

He was dismayed with himself and simply couldn't finish. He silently pushed his chair away and left the chamber without looking back.

"He really didn't want to offend, it was just a joke," Rhaelle said in the sudden silence around them. "He hadn't sprouted such things in five years, at least."

"You think I am stupid and I don't understand?" Jaehaerys asked.

"Seven help me!" she exclaimed. "Why are you so sensitive of everything that has something to do with…"

"Go and bring him back," Jaehaerys cut her off. "Bring him back before he slits his throat at the thought that I might have taken offense. Explain it to him that I am far more thick-skinned than the two of you seem to think."

But it was a lie. Duncan's words reminded him that he was not considered worthy. He would never be, for a man's worth was in being warrior. Only the Seven knew how hard he needed to work to master the very basics of martial art – and he would never be more than mediocre, if that. He could never enter the lists in a tournament, not unless he wanted to be humiliated by having rivals who would lose willingly to ingratiate themselves with him.

He'd rather die.

He'd never be cheered as loudly as Duncan and young Aemon, or even Rhaelle. Instead, he'd always be assessed for any signs of impeding death.

He'd never crown the one he wanted Queen of Love and Beauty…

As he always did, he chased these thoughts away. He would never fall prey to self-pity. But as he grew older, he often lay awake at night, wondering how things might have been if he had been born just two months later.

Aemon was still busying himself with the huge dog. Next to the fireplace, Alaenys Blackfyre returned to her embroidery. She pitied him, of course, but she did not show it and for this, Jaehaerys was grateful.

"Care to try it on?" he asked lightly.

She gave him a look of surprise. Jaehaerys smiled and looked at the tiara. "It would look marvelous on you, I am sure."

She blushed.

 _What am I doing,_ Jaehaerys asked himself. It was bad enough to know that Duncan would crown her if he won. The others didn't know but Jaehaerys always took notice of how they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. Nothing would come out of it, of course. Alaenys was a war prize, for all that she was a beloved companion of theirs. She was a _Blackfyre_. Duncan would never wed her – and Jaehaerys was sure she knew it. But she was beautiful and Duncan was – well, Duncan. It was only to be expected that she'd fall under his charm should he chose to exercise it. Really, who was Jaehaerys to judge? He could never win any lady's heart and he recognized that this fact made him bitter.

Especially when it came to Alaenys.

"Do you really think he'll crown me?" she asked suddenly, eagerly.

Jaehaerys smiled. "I am sure," he said and wondered whether he wanted it to be true.

As if on cue, the subject of their conversation came back, distraught, shepherded by a very determined Rhaelle. Jaehaerys looked at them and forced another smile. "Come on," he said. "I'll even lay some bets on you tomorrow – but don't tell Robar," he added conspiratorially.

Duncan's face immediately relaxed. He really couldn't bear it when Jaehaerys was angry with him. "You are the best, do you know that?" he said, beaming in relief.

Jaehaerys shook his head. "Of course I know that," he said.

Aemon rose and went to put up the shutters. The bustle of King's Landing was suddenly cut off and Jaehaerys was glad. Rarely before the excitement of the city had given him such a sharp pain.


	2. Chapter 2

"Is it your favour that our dear Robar is wearing?" Jaehaerys asked, watching his sister curiously as next to them Alaenys leaned over to cheer for the young Baratheon as he rode for the next joust. "I mean, did he finally manage to get himself among all those you secretly gave your favour to?"

"Keep silent!" Rhaelle hissed and cast a quick look at their mother but fortunately, the Queen hadn't heard a thing – she was too engrossed with the joust. Rhae Targaryen had always loved such displays. A seat away, their aunt Daella smiled conspiratorially and Rhaelle smiled back. A lady was supposed to give her favour to one knight only but since many knights kept silence whose favour they wore, for the last few tournaments Rhaelle had given away in secret enough tokens to favour the participants in an entire melee all by herself.

The two rivals rode at each other, aiming the long wooden lances at each other. The crowd around the jousting field held their breath and gave a cheer of both joy and disappointment when both men hit the mark but none managed to unhorse the other. They went to the far ends of the field to prepare for the next tilt. Around Jaehaerys, the people on the dais stirred and started talking.

 _It is going very well, for now,_ the young Prince thought. He knew that his father had had some misgivings but for now, King Aegon's fears have been proven unfounded. Smallfolk loved tournaments and lords and knights could not miss the chance to distinguish themselves. That outweighed the fact that the current Tourney of the Hand was being held to celebrate the elevation of a hated Dornishman to the second highest rank in the realm. The Blackfyre Rebellions had not taken place so long ago and Dorne was still a new and disturbing place for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, so too many had been disgruntled with Lord Alor Gargalen being given the honours they thought were reserved for them and theirs or at least, other people of the initial six kingdoms. Worse yet was the fact that Lord Gargalen's main merit seemed to be his lady wife, the King's own sister Princess Daella.

But all of this seemed forgotten in the clattering of hooves and the impacts of lances. Jaehaerys looked down eagerly and grinned when this time, Robar did unhorse his opponent. Everyone cheered wildly and Alaenys actually jumped from her seat to throw him a flower. He raised his visor and gallantly blew her a kiss. The crowd erupted in even greater cheer.

She was so fond of such events. Sure, Jaehaerys' mother and sister also loved them but Alaenys' passion for them ran deeper. It was almost as if she believed in the old tales of valiant knights and noble combats. As if she believed that the ones who won were the best men in the Seven Kingdoms. It was odd for a girl who had had such a hard life as hers but at the same time, Jaehaerys understood her. She had lost her mother very early in life. All she had ever known was the life with the Golden Company, the husband forced upon her when she had been still a child and then – her life in captivity with them. Sure, at King's Landing she lacked for nothing and she was always treated as a dear friend of Rhaelle's but she would forever stay the Blackfyre girl. She could never wed a high lord. She could never rely on the advantages of her blood, the advantages the first Daemon Blackfyre had lost away to all his descendants. All she would ever have was what the King would see fit to give her. No wonder she wanted to make believe that the veneer she saw here was real. No wonder she admired tournament knights. He could not begrudge her this.

"We'll see, Baratheon," Duncan murmured from behind Jaehaerys who startled – he hadn't heard his approach. "The champion is not settled just yet."

"Don't lose my money, brother," Jaehaerys said, smiling.

Duncan grinned. "Never fear. Be ready to applaud the new champion as soon as I take the field."

Always so sure of himself. Jaehaerys shook his head fondly. As good a friend as Robar was, he really wished for Duncan to be the victor. It would be a crashing blow to all his expectations if he didn't make it.

Rhaelle, though, did not seem certain whom she wanted to win; amused, Jaehaerys saw her applauding each well aimed strike. _She must really like Robar_ , he realized, stunned, because for all her squabbles with Duncan, she had always cheered for him and him alone. Until now. When his glance fell on his aunt, he saw that Daella, too, had taken notice. The smile had faded off from her devastatingly lovely face, her lips were thin and white. Jaehaerys knew that her first marriage to the then Lord Baratheon had been less than successful but it had never occurred to him that she might be holding grudge against the House.

The crowd's gasp turned his attention back to the jousting field; he cheered along with the others as the herolds announced the end of the joust, with Duncan being the winner, having unhorsed Robar in the third tilt. The crowd went wild, for Duncan was really everyone's favourite; with his easy charm, he won the heart of everyone he met, everywhere he went. Their grandfather King Maekar and his sister, the Dowager Queen Aelinor, had been of the same mind: that he was the very image of their brilliant brother Baelor Breakspear. Prince Baelor had been able to turn enemies into friends, it was said. Duncan certainly could.

Now he was being presented with a wreath of silver roses. Of course, he had to make a spectacle out of choosing his Queen of Love and Beauty, too, looking this way and that, leaving disappointed breaths and trails of guesses wherever he went. Jaehaerys' smile did not waver when, accompanied by the excited whispers of the crowd, his brother rode straight to the dais and placed the wreath into Alaenys' outstretched hands.

The wild cheering that erupted showed clearly the love people of King's Landing bore their handsome and chivalrous Prince. Really, who else would think of honouring a mere captive, a war prize, a Blackfyre? A lesser man would have chosen a lady from one of the great Houses but Prince Duncan could really see truth for what it was, because this Alaenys Blackfyre really was a beauty to remember…

King Aegon was shaking his head. Queen Rhae looked vaguely disappointed. Jaehaerys did his best to not look at Alaenys because the enthralled look in her eyes following Duncan pained him, even as he congratulated his brother, most sincerely at that. He felt his mother's eyes on him but he didn't look at her, lest she noticed his sudden anger. It was the Queen who had set him up for the profound disappointment he so often felt at such events. _Why am I always sick, Mother_ , he would ask her often as he fought yet another fever. And she would smile and say that it was nothing, that all children got sick. _Not true,_ he would argue. _Rhaelle and Duncan don't._ At this, she would take his hand and explain that it was only because he was still so young, younger than his siblings, that he'd grow up strong and healthy. And yes, he would be just as good at his sword practice as Duncan, he'd be as great a knight as the Kingsguard... How he had waited! Now, he could not say the exact moment when he had stopped believing her. But he still remembered the bitterness of the realization that he'd never become healthy, that his entire life would be like this – and a very short life it would be, probably. And he remembered the pain of knowing that his mother had lied to him.

In time, it would probably stop hurting. But now… now he was seventeen and he longed for all the things that young men his age took for granted.

Fortunately, he would always have his books.

* * *

_The same night…_

"Come back here, you little devil!" Jaehaerys called out.

Only an echo of laughter answered him. And then, "Come and catch me!" A moment later, nothing showed that his brother had ever been there.

Smiling, Jaehaerys sat down on the nearest bench to draw a breath. He had expected this escapade of Aemon's. About an hour ago, the boy had run into his chambers, creating a veritable havoc in no time at all and using Jaehaerys as a public to talk about the tournament. Then, he had gone docile and it had been just about time for him to go berserk again. Jaehaerys reasoned that it would be better for him to get Aemon occupied until he exhausted all his energy, otherwise the boy would create a marvelous spectacle in the hall, to Jaehaerys and his siblings' amusement – and to their parents horror! Jaehaerys could just imagine him entering the great hall riding the King's favourite mount… He started to rise when his brother's voice startled him from behind. "You didn't even come after me! How can you be such a bore?"

"I manage," Jaehaerys murmured to no one at all because Aemon had gone off again. He looked up at the sky and as always was entranced by the very enormity of it, by the dark veil that made the stars shimmer ever so brightly. He loved sitting in the garden watching the sky, even when it was the hard winter sky and the air was cold and bearing no scent at all. He could spend the night here, figuratively speaking.

From the other side of the hedge, he noticed two shadows. The winds carried voices that he recognized and he was about to rise and join them when Elfrik Ascall said something that made him pause. "I found two ladies today," the young heir of Good Joy declared. "One for you and one for me. They are both in love with you, of course, but I'll keep the blond one anyway."

Duncan laughed. "No problem," he said, with generous air. "Blonds are not my taste, anyway. You can have her."

Elfrik also laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. I was afraid that your passion for your Queen of Love and Beauty had ruined you for good life. There was a time I actually thought you might wed her."

The sheer absurdity of the idea made Duncan roar with laughter.

Now, they were closer to the hedge. Jaehaerys could not rise and go away without them noticing, so he stayed and he listened.

"You looked like a one woman's man," Elfrik insisted.

Duncan snorted. "Me? Never. And besides, it isn't as if she's given up to my charm. I'm doing my best, though. Maybe tonight I'll be lucky," he added, playfully. "After all, I did crown her, didn't I? She must have melted enough…"

Jaehaerys was sure that his brother was winking. The anger that overcame him was so fierce that he was stunned. He was half of a mind to go and tell him what he thought about him when the bush behind him stirred. There was someone else there – someone else who had heard, too.

He looked aside, for the pain in her moonlit face was worse to bear than her happiness from today.

Silently, she grasped his hand and squeezed it, as if she wanted him to steady her. He was about to rise and help her sit down but she shook her head. Together, they waited for the two young, carefree newcomers to go on their way.

Finally, Jaehaerys rose and she let go. He hesitated, not knowing what to say, how to make her feel better. "He didn't mean it like this," he said. "He's really infatuated with you, I know this. He's just…" His voice faded helplessly. Duncan was Duncan – well-meaning, chivalrous, and a skirtchaser to the boot. Alaenys should have known it.

"Please," she said. Her voice was scratchy, hoarse. "Don't."

For a while, they stayed silent. Finally, she drew a deep breath and stood straighter. "Thank you," she said. "For staying with me. We must go now."

He was not sure that she should be alone so soon after the disappointment. She met his eye and shook her head, smiling slightly. "No," she said. "Don't be afraid for me. I'm going to the Great Hall. I am the Queen of Love and Beauty, aren't I? I have to dance with the champion."

She was dressed in a magnificent gown of black and silver. The silver wreath made her hair darker. Her indigo eyes were huge and deep. She was bejeweled with what Jaehaerys recognized as his mother's amethysts.

She was so beautiful. Only the sparkle in her eyes was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The documents on the table were stacked in piles that were too high for the King's liking. Ships, taxes, building works… and they all waited for his attention. And that was even without taking the Iron Bank into account. The inundation that had ravaged Lannisport and its great sea walls in the last year of his father's reign had cost them the last payment due to the Iron Bank and since it had been immediately followed by a new Blackfyre Rebellion, Maekar's death, and the upheaval that was to be expected of it, they had not managed to pay the debt in full. And they were now being reminded of their obligation, quite clearly.

And now, he had to make another decision. A political one, yes, but personal, as well.

Two of the men he expected arrived shortly after each other. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard loomed over them even when they were all seated, although not as much. His white cloak gleamed; amused all of a sudden, the King remembered the times when the man had not owned a garment that was not threadbare. Even cleanliness had been a problem for them, let alone keeping their attire immaculate.

The other man was older. His right arm stood rigid, almost immobile, deep lines gathered around the corners of his eyes and mouth but his manner betrayed careful attention, although he didn't say anything except for the formal greeting. Once again, Aegon realized the calming effect Ser Galend Highhill had on him. It was no wonder why Aegon's father had preferred him to all other members of the court.

"Well?" Ser Duncan the Tall asked. "Shouldn't we start?"

The King shook his head. "I'd rather wait for Alor…"

The newly appointed Hand of the King appeared shortly after and bowed. For a moment, he stood silhouetted against the window, his black doublet and breeches even darker against the newly fallen snow. His lithe figure kept the illusion of youth and he was every bit as strong and skillful as the man Aegon had first seen on that fierce Dornish sand steed of his twenty years ago when he and Rhae had been running from their pursuers. Alor Gargalen and his party had appeared out of nothing and defended them. Alor Sand, he had been then. In that day, Aegon had had no idea that a few years later the young Dornishman would wed his sister and become a beloved member of the family. Even Maekar had come to appreciate his goodson.

Time had left lines where the skin had once been smooth, and reason where there once had been fierceness, although that hot Dornish blood of his still roared thunderously when provocations reached the limit of his patience. Aegon trusted him as he did few others.

"Take a seat," he invited, taking notice of his friend's pallor. Those with Dornish blood did not fare well in winter. Lack of sunlight made them ill, it seemed.

Next to each man, there was a bowl of dried fruit and a goblet of wine. They all drank.

"How fares Daella?" Aegon asked. "I haven't seen her lately."

Alor shrugged. "As well as she could be expected. She can barely eat but she can growl and bare her harmless teeth at everyone. She can't wait for the babe to arrive."

For a while, they were silent before the King finally started. "I've summoned you here because it's time to discuss something of great importance."

They all listened.

"It's a family matter, as well as a political one," Aegon went on. "It's time to think of Duncan's wedding. He has seen twenty namedays already. Rhaelle has seen eighteen… When I was their age, I already expected Jaehaerys."

Alor and Ser Duncan nodded affirmatively. Until now, Duncan and Rhaelle had showed no great hurry for the wedding and the King had respected their wishes. But the Seven Kingdoms could not wait indefinitely.

"This trick of his on the tournament…" Aegon murmured. Sure, a crown of flowers was just a crown of flowers… in the eyes of the populace. In the King's eyes it was yet another sign of Duncan's lack of desire to do his duty. He should have crowned Rhaelle and started talking about their upcoming wedding… but no, not Duncan Targaryen. "I am done with him. I've been indulging his whims for long enough… and the same stands for Rhaelle. They will be wed in three moons. I am tired of waiting for them to turn responsible."

He pretended not to notice the others' looks. When he had eloped with Rhae, he had been still seventh or eighth in the line of succession, not the Prince of Dragonstone.

"What do you think?" he asked. "My lord Hand?"

"I think it's time for the Prince to wed," the Dornishman said without hesitation. "The realm loves him but it won't last long. We need stability and certainty in the succession."

Aegon had expected it and took it stoically although it pained him to hear the truth spoken so bluntly. Alor Gargalen would have never told Aegon that people doubted Jaehaerys, that they didn't approve of him, that they waited for him to die – but the Hand should tell the King the truth as he saw it. Aegon was surprised by the resentment that overwhelmed him all of a sudden – anger just as hot as Alor's own, fury that could set the sands of Dorne afire. He went to the window and stared at it to hide his emotion and for the first time he wondered whether their friendship would survive Alor's new position.

"My Lord Commander?" he asked and turned back to look at Ser Duncan.

The one-time hedge knight had progressed far from the first year when he had looked terrified each time he had been expected to counsel the King. Now, he nodded in confirmation. "If we keep waiting for the boy to come around, his hair will turn white before he does. But I believe that once wed, he'll grow accustomed to it and the responsibilities he has to the succession of this House."

That was exactly what Aegon himself was convinced in. And yet… He looked at the fourth man in the room, the one who had yet to say a word. "And what about you, Ser Galend? Do you agree?"

"No," the old man said, without hesitation. "I don't."

The relief surged through Aegon like a great wave. The piercing dark eyes staring at his showed him that Ser Galend realized why he had been summoned. So, it hadn't been just a fear of Aegon's. There was someone else who was against the idea. He felt that now, he might finally find out what the grounds for his own reluctance to the idea were.

He turned back to the window, both to hide his expression and see the source of the din echoing off the walls in the courtyard. In a cloud of dust, a riding party arrived. The rider in the lead jumped from his lathered horse and took the bridle, then looked up, as if he knew he was being watched. On his tanned face, the purple eyes shone like amethysts. He swept his hat off with a flourish and bowed, his silvery-white hair now streaked with gold, no doubt thanks to the blazing Dornish sun. Aegon smiled and waved at him. Then, he turned to the others. "Mikkel," he said.

"Mikkel?" Alor repeated and went to the window. From below, his son waved at him, too. Alor returned the gesture. "He was supposed to arrive tomorrow. He must have spurred Lord Qorgyle's sand steeds to death. If so, he'll be training new ones for him in person and I don't care how he finds the time. "

Aegon held his smirk back. He didn't think it was possible for a sand steed to be spurred to run to death and even if it were, Alor surely must have killed at least a dozen in his youth. But of course, with his son it was different. For a few years, his idea of raising his eldest when he was home had seemed to be, the less free time Mikkel got, the less follies he could commit.

"He's brown now," Aegon said, unnecessarily. "He looks… weird."

Behind him, the Lord Commander laughed. "You looked even weirder when we came back from Dorne," he said. "At least the boy has hair."

Aegon laughed. It was true, he supposed. He had looked weird when he had had the chance to see his reflection in the pools and rivers they had passed by.

"A strange boy, your Mikkel is," Ser Duncan went on, addressing the Hand. "The maesters sing his praises, yet he doesn't take their ramblings all that seriously. Since he could read, he's been spending lots of time in the library, yet he manages to take part in every serious thrashing around. And he doesn't care whether he deals with the High Septon or the King's Hand – if he feels he's in the right, nothing can move him."

"Especially with the King's Hand," Alor muttered. "It's your lord father's fault," he told Aegon. "I am sorry but it is."

"Don't I know it," Aegon sighed. King Maekar had been a hard man and he'd been in constant conflicts with his sons – but he had spoiled his grandchildren to no end. They had only needed to ask something of him to get it – often something that their parents forbade, unless it was outright dangerous. As a result, the children had started thinking that they were allowed to do whatever they liked. Alor at least had raised objections. Aegon hadn't bothered – he had figured that there would be little use of it. Of course, Maekar hadn't paid any attention to his goodson's protests but lately, Aegon had started to realize that those hadn't been entirely useless. Mikkel and his brother had seen that their father did not agree and that sometimes had made them stop and think, letting Alor establish some control. Jaehaerys had never been demanding but Duncan… even now, he was not too inclined to listen to his father about things that really mattered.

The boy disappeared into the castle and Alor returned to his seat. Aegon shivered with sudden cold and closed the window before turning to his father's old friend. "Ser, you were telling me why you didn't think it was a good idea?"

"Was I, really?" Ser Galend muttered. "Well, I think that it isn't the moment to further isolate the dynasty into itself. Times aren't as good as to allow further estrangement with the rest of the Great Houses."

Aegon almost reminded him that there was no 'rest' of the Great Houses. House Targaryen was above everyone else. But he held his tongue: he knew what Ser Galend meant. And he really wanted to hear his opinion. Because it was not only the political aspect that scared him.

"On a more personal level," Ser Galend went on with his calm voice, "I do think the brother-sister marriages House Targaryen practices are detrimental."

Aegon was struck dumb. He hadn't quite expected _such_ honesty, not when he was in one of those _detrimental_ marriages.

Someone shouted something in the courtyard. Somewhere down the hall, a harp sounded. Ser Galend gave Aegon a steady look. "It isn't just my opinion," he said. "It was your father's, too."

"My father's?" Aegon repeated, the irony of the situation not lost on him. Ser Duncan snorted. Alor's eyes widened – he had got it.

The other man nodded. "I know what you're thinking. He knew it, too. To him, it was the only possible way of action. He loved Aelinor, always had. They were good for each other. They were as happy as they could be in all this horror around them. But you remember what kind of man your father used to be before she died. And what he became after." He shook his head. "To him, losing her was losing both his sister and his companion in life. And I think it wouldn't have been much better if he was never in love with her in the first place. Living together binds people together, especially if there is _any_ kind of love involved. For the life of me, I can't see why anyone would want to put his children through this unless there is absolutely no other choice."

That was it. The answer Aegon had been looking for. The real reason for his reluctance to bind his children to each other. The memory came back, as clear as the day it had been created.

" _Won't you come and dine with us? Rhae and the children will be thrilled."_

" _No."_

_Aegon looked around to make sure that there was no one around as they made their way back from the armory of the Red Keep. All around them there was a bustle of activity – blacksmiths, knights, and kitchen maidens running around with weapons and provisions. Loud voices shouted orders on the top of their lungs. King's Landing was preparing for stifling the latest uprising in the realm._

" _It's been six weeks already. Rhae and Daella are worried. I am, too," he added._

" _You're wasting your time, all of you. None of you can help. Just leave me alone and focus on your own lives before we leave. I'll be all right, at the end."_

_Aegon gave him a long look. His father could have told him that he intended to bring the moon down, and he'd have given his words just as much credence. Maekar did look like a ghost sent in the Red Keep to scare people away. He forced himself to eat but he couldn't force himself to sleep – unless he took a sleeping draught which he considered a sign of weakness._

_All of a sudden, the King lost the last vestiges of his patience. "I would think that of all people, you'd be the one who understand but it seems I've overestimated you," he spat. "Think, Aegon, think! It's been six weeks already, you say. Actually, it's been only six weeks. Six weeks compared to my whole life. That's how long she's been in my life. Since I was born. And you expect that I'd get over her in six weeks?"_

_Aegon stopped dead in his tracks. His face went white. "That wasn't what I meant at…"_

" _I know it wasn't," Maekar snapped. "Of course it wasn't what you meant. I wonder whether you know what you meant. I am afraid you'll get to know how it is only when you're in my shoes. Because that's where you'll end up one day. You know it, don't you?"_

_The young man could only stare, shocked. For all his harshness, Maekar had never been cruel to him. Not like this._

" _We tamper with the laws of the Seven," Maekar went on, his voice dripping ice. "Once, we tampered with magic, we Targaryens. And we pay for it, always. You'll pay, too, Aegon. Believe me, you will pay. You won't get away with it any more than I did… Just wait! You'll lose Rhae, too."_

_The shudder tore the veil of shock. Aegon made a step backward, disbelieving to what he had just heard. "And you wish it upon me?!"_

" _Of course I don't!  Are you really such a fool to think that? But that's what will happen. You'll lose her, or she'll lose you one day. That's the order of things. That's what you did to yourselves, just as we did. One day, your children will have the same thing happening to them… until someone breaks this accursed cycle of ours."_

_Aegon kept retreating. His pride was the only thing that kept him from turning back and running away as fast as he could from his father's severity and the fear that he could not put down._

All this flashed in the King's memory for no longer than a moment. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten it. Surely such ugliness, such despair could never be forgotten?

He took his goblet to his suddenly parched lips.

"All right," he said. "What alliances do you have in mind?"


	4. Chapter 4

When Duncan returned from his hunting expedition at the Kingswood with his entourage, the nobles were going to the great hall for the evening banquet. He took off the heavy hat from his sweaty head and grinned at the thought that he would contribute to the meals for the next day. His catch had been good, including two deer – no mean feat in winter.

But he forgot all about his bragging plans when he entered the stables.

The horse was pale as dawn, with a mane and tail of gold. The narrow head and slim frame showed that he was, no doubt, a Dornish sand steed. It gave Duncan a long look and snorted. Long graceful legs and fire in his eyes – this was Duncan's horse. Or at least, he would be.

"Who is the owner of this animal?" he asked the nearest stable-hand.

"Mikkel Gargalen, Your Grace," the boy said and Duncan's smile of delight faded.

He decided to bathe before he went to dinner. His mother wouldn't have him in the great hall as he was – mud, sweat, and all. And he wouldn't like to have Alaenys wrinkle her nose, either. He told his people to go and make themselves presentable, too, and headed for his chambers.

Of course, no one expected him. While they were drawing him a bath, he decided to get a stroll around Maegor's Holdfast. Unfortunately, Rhaelle had already left for dinner. Jaehaerys, though, was still in his chambers – and it seemed he had no intention to go to the great hall at all. He was lying half-propped against a pile of pillows on the couch. _His belly hurts_ , Duncan thought. His brother was very pale, his face drawn in a way that was an unmistakable indicator of pain but he was laughing, his eyes shining as he and Mikkel were talking over each other, clearly delighted to be in each other's company after Mikkel had spent almost a year in Dorne. Plates of food, mostly untouched, cluttered the low table between them.

Jaehaerys was facing the door so he was the first one to notice his brother's arrival. At seeing his look, Mikkel turned. "Oh it's you," he said. "Was the hunt a success?"

"What do you think?" Duncan replied, doing his best to hide the slight antipathy he felt. Out of all of his cousins, this was the one he liked least. As usual, he found Mikkel physically repulsive. Oh his cousin was growing into a very handsome boy, there was nothing wrong with his looks! It was his expression that was the problem. His purple eyes were set too wide apart. In his presence, Duncan always felt crushed by a powerful mind, dissected and analyzed ruthlessly – and too often found lacking. Mikkel preferred Jaehaerys. Duncan would have understood if his cousin was a bookworm or something but Mikkel really wasn't. He wasn't too much of… anything. Just enough of everything to be universally liked by the tutors they shared. Even Duncan's father who was constantly dissatisfied with his children had only praise for his nephew. At least Mikkel's own father didn't find him so flawless. "Next time, you might come with me," he added.

The younger boy smiled. "Thanks but it'll have to wait for another year or two. I am here only for a short time. Lord Qorgyle wants me back in two months."

And a good thing it was.

The boy's smile showed that he knew what Duncan was thinking – and that he found it amusing. Really, Mikkel was as infuriating as his mother Daella was a calming influence.

"Tell us about your exploits at Kingswood," Jaehaerys prompted and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His hand went to his upper belly and started rubbing gently. Neither Duncan nor Mikkel said a word – they knew that he did not realize what he was doing. And they didn't want him to lose even the slightest relief he could find.

So Duncan started talking about the hunting trip. He was doing his best to sound light-hearted when he was, in fact, bursting with resentment. With his arrival, Jaehaerys had become quiet and withdrawn, letting the pain get the better of him. _Why is it that with me, he can't be the way he is with Mikkel,_ Duncan seethed _. What does Mikkel have that I don't? He's years younger than Jaehaerys and he wasn't even here for months. I am always here – why does he prefer_ him _?_

His feelings made his tone harsh when he turned to his cousin. "I saw the sand steed at our stables."

Mikkel smiled, his eyes shining with pride. "Shalaan," he explained. "He's one year old."

"He's magnificent."

"Yes," the boy confirmed. "He is."

"Are we talking about the dawn horse?" Jaehaerys asked without opening his eyes. His cheeks had become a touch paler, his hand was resting to his side, as if even the slightest touch was too much for his belly now.

Duncan grinned. That was how he had named the stallion in his thoughts _. We aren't so different, my brother and I_ , he thought, pleased. "I want to buy him," he told Mikkel.

"He isn't for sale," the boy said.

"You don't even know the price I would offer," Duncan said. A look at Jaehaerys told him that he was not likely to eat more for tonight, so Duncan treated himself to a morsel of his brother's barely touched dinner.

"I don't care about the price." Mikkel's voice was calm. "Lord Qorgyle gave him to me. It's a present. And he's _mine_. I can find you another sand steed, just as good. But not Shalaan."

"I don't want another sand steed. I want this one."

"I told you I am not selling him."

"Look, I am ready to give you…"

Mikkel rose angrily, in a rare outburst of feelings. His foot got caught in the tablecloth. Plates and goblets clattered down. Meats, vegetables, and wine flew around and started soaking in the carpet. Both Duncan and Jaehaerys stared at him, surprised.

"Let's get clear, Duncan." Mikkel's fair face was flushed with rage. "You can charm the world as much as you want to. You can bribe everyone else as much as you want to. But don't even try it with me." He paused. "The kingdom is yours. Westeros is yours – or at least, it will be. I'll defend your power over this land to the last drop of my lifeblood. But Duncan, _this horse is mine and I won't give it up even for Dragonstone,_ so stop pressing me and thinking you can manipulate me into parting with him!"

Stunned, Duncan could only stare. For the life of him, he had not expected such an outburst. He had only offered to buy a bloody horse!

Mikkel circled around the table and touched Jaehaerys' hand. "I am sorry I couldn't control myself," he said, remorse evident in his face. "I'll clean the mess."

"Not now," Jaehaerys said. The waves of pain in his belly weren't his only problem, his head throbbed, too, and the thought of hearing any clatter again was not appealing.

Mikkel nodded. "I'll come to visit you tomorrow," he promised. "Or you can visit me if you're up to it. Get better."

Duncan watched him leaving, his jaw almost dislocating itself. Fury rose in him once again. So, Mikkel was allowed to mention Jaehaerys' health now, wasn't he? If Duncan did it, or Rhaelle, or their parents, Jaehaerys would grow angry but with Mikkel – oh no problem there!

"Are you pleased with yourself now that you ousted him?" Jaehaerys asked, tiredly. He didn't try to rise but his irritation was evident.

"What?" Duncan snapped. "What was he doing here, anyway? Aren't you tired with him getting in your way whenever he's here?"

Jaehaerys glared at him. "What makes you think he's getting in my way? Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe I want him to be here?"

"Oh it has, certainly!" Duncan spat. "You love him more than you love us."

All of a sudden, Jaehaerys laughed. It hurt him but it was clearly a real feeling. Irritated, Duncan realized that his brother was thinking him childish and jealous. "What does love have to do with it? He likes being with me, that's all. And I like being with him."

" _I_ like being with you, too," Duncan retorted. "And so does Rhaelle."

Jaehaerys' expression grew serious. He tried to sit up and Duncan hurried to help him.

"Does it really bother you so much?" Jaehaerys asked. "My friendship with Mikkel? You have friends of your own."

Duncan nodded. It was different. He couldn't say why but it was.

Jaehaerys sighed. His eyes looked past Duncan, far away, to a place his brother could not follow. "He finds me interesting, Duncan," he finally said. "He wants to hear what I have to say. He waits for me as long as I need him to. And he doesn't drop me as soon as something better comes along."

Duncan felt insulted. "I never did that!" he protested. And paused. He loved his brother but it was true, he didn't find him very interesting, with his constant reading and treatments. Jaehaerys was smarter than most people but well… he was quite boring. Too serious. Rhaelle also thought so. It had just never occurred to Duncan that his brother might be aware of their feelings.

"Am I really this horrible?" he asked contritely.

Jaehaerys smiled faintly. "Not horrible, no. But you can be quite inconsiderate. I don't stand between you and your many friends, Duncan. Can't you let me have the few ones I can find?" He snuggled against his pillows in a failed attempt to find a position that was less painful and closed his eyes.

Duncan felt like the most wretched person alive. "I'll try," he promised and rose. For a moment, he hesitated. He wanted to touch his brother's hand like Mikkel had but decided against it. "See you tomorrow," he said and left.

In the far end of the hallway, he spotted a glimpse of a blue gown. When he came near, he smiled despite himself. Here she was, the girl he couldn't stop to think about, to the exclusion of all others. "How are you, my lady?" he asked.

To his surprise, Alaenys Blackfyre curtsied too deeply and answered, very formally, "The Queen sent me to check on Prince Jaehaerys."

What was wrong with her? Duncan rolled his eyes and let her be. He couldn't handle another clash for today. He decided to postpone it for later and let her proceed to Jaehaerys' chambers without trying to stop her. His bath was probably ready by now, although he was in no mood to join the laughter in the great hall.

* * *

What had happened in this room? Had there been a food fight, or had the two brothers overturned the tables with all plates and goblets?

"A little difference in opinion," Jaehaerys said softly from the couch. He tried to rise but fell back with a soft moan.

Alaenys rushed to his side. He was terribly pale, huddled to one side as if he could not lie on his back. She had seen him washed-out, of course, but she had never witnessed one of his episodes of full-blown pain and she was stunned and a little afraid. "The Queen sent me to check on you," she said. She did not add that she had been more than willing to obey if that meant she could leave the hall before Prince Duncan came in. "How are you feeling?"

He smiled weakly. "I've been better."

Even his voice was different. Once again, Alaenys felt a touch of fear but it did not repel her, it brought her closer to him, like that overheard conversation in the garden had brought him closer to her. She looked around for a decanter.

"Water," Jaehaerys murmured. "Not wine. At the sideboard."

Alaenys poured a goblet, sat down next to him, lifted his head and brought the goblet to his lips. He drank slowly, sip by sip. She waited patiently, thinking of all the rumours she had heard about him, how his being sickly equaled his being weak. She was now dismayed with herself for having believed that, albeit for a short time. She had never seen him as worthy, not like she had seen his dashing brother. Duncan who had everything coming to him so easily. Duncan who had nothing to want for because he had it all. Jaehaerys' very living meant a daily struggle. And she had seen _Duncan_ as the worthy one? _Sometimes people fight not to be dashing but to stay alive_ , she thought.

Jaehaerys turned his head slightly aside. Alaenys took the goblet off. "Do you want some milk of poppy?" she asked, lowering him back against the pillows.

"No," he murmured. "I'd rather keep my conscience. I'll fall asleep soon anyway."

She started to rise but he reached out and caught her hand. As if her presence brought him comfort. As if he needed her. No one else ever had. She settled back.

Soon, his breathing evened out. Only when she was sure he was fast asleep, she worked her hand free, very carefully.


	5. Chapter 5

The girl's laughter filled the room, loud and seductive. Duncan drew his hand across her shoulder and briefly wondered whether he could possibly keep her after the wedding. He would know if it he could remember her name? Lysa or Ilaine? Was her father Lord Lannister, or Lord Who-Knows-What? That could make the difference. He could not expect to make a daughter of a Lord Paramount his mistress publicly. The King would never stand for it… and that was if the Queen didn't get there first. If her father was a mere lord, though, her family could even be delighted. He might keep her in a nice house. Rhaelle wouldn't really mind. It wasn't as if she gave too much thoughts to his conquests, unless it was to mock him that he chose them for two things alone – fair skin and dull wits.

Alaenys did have the fair skin but she was anything but dull.

Alaenys again! Duncan shook his head angrily, to his tablemates' confusion, as if that could chase the Blackfyre girl away. Recently, she was getting everywhere, with her brief smiles and even briefer gleam of her violet eyes that normally stared at him kindly, their look like a caress. She was good at everything she did, from singing to soothing his little cousin Myara's angry outbursts and wild ways. And she always smelled like violets. _She smells like her eyes_ , Duncan thought, amused, and removed his hand, to Lady Ilaine-Lysa's obvious disappointment. She was not the only one he had disappointed in the last weeks. For all his boasting, his interest to more intimate activities with ladies had waned significantly. To his horror, he had realized that he wanted Alaenys and no one else.

And he would have to wed Rhaelle. Soon. He could not delay for much longer. The thought was anything but appealing. He loved her but it wasn't the kind of love that made a man want to take a womannto his bed. Certainly nothing like the love that existed between his parents who, too, were siblings, just like him and Rhaelle. He had no desire to bed her. And the idea of living with her scared him a little. They were good at loving each other but they were also good at being constantly at odds because they were so different. It had been hard enough to share a nursery; how would it be to share their _lives_?

All of a sudden, he rose and excused himself, to the others' disgruntled murmur. He was aware that he was turning boring and unreliable in their eyes but he truly couldn't stand the feast and laughter as if there was nothing wrong with the world. There was something very wrong with _his_ world. It was about time to start taking more… responsibilities.

In the next morning, he rose quite early and washed hurriedly over the basin. As he crossed the halls, passing by servants who were busy extinguishing the night candles, he was encountered by the sight of a small head poking from behind a black curtain that made a striking contrast to the silver hair. Duncan motioned and the boy went out, reluctantly. "Were were you going?" Duncan asked, sternly.

The boy looked at him challengingly. "And where were _you_ going?"

"I was only…" Duncan started and stopped. "Did you run away from your lessons?" he asked, a frown appearing on his face. He could deal with a child who had only seen six namedays. Damn him if he couldn't.

Rhaegar Targaryen blushed but went right back to attacking. "Where were you going?"

"To attend the meeting of the Small Council," he replied.

Rhaegar gaped at him. "You?" he laughed and avoided the swipe Duncan aimed at his direction before bolting down the hall.

Amused, Duncan went on his way. The boy was nothing like his father, Duncan's mad uncle Aerion. Rhaegar was a sweet little monkey with a pert tongue and nice temper – as nice as a boy his age could have. Still! Such disrespect. Was it so ludicrous that Duncan wanted to attend the meeting from the very beginning? He had done it before, after all.

Two times.

The sun had barely started showing its pale head behind the horizon but when Duncan entered the small chamber the Council met in, all of them were already there – seven members plus the King. For a moment, Duncan remembered another type of fiery sun, and long lazy mornings singing with the murmur of waterworks in the faraway land he had been born in. A memory so faint that it only came to him in flashes. Life had been different then. His father had been different. He had only been his father. Now, he was also the King.

Duncan looked at the new Hand and another memory overcame him: Alor, young and dark, his skin gleaming with health, throwing him high in the air to catch him. _He needs some time in Dorne as soon as Father can spare him_ , the Prince thought. Lord Gargalen was as strong and agile as ever but he looked like the sun had left his bones. _He belongs to the desert winds and the sun of the Water Gardens. They will heal him._ The lack of light was ailing Alor. Maybe it was true, that once one had been in the miracle of sea and sand that was Dorne, it never left them and they needed it to keep themselves vigorous. Duncan had always wondered whether it was like that for the North. He had never been there. He had smelled the scent of the ocean of flowers in Highgarden, he had climbed all the way to the Eyrie, he had marveled at the storms of Starfall, he had seen the generous fields of the Westerlands, he had felt the eerily fascination of the cursed seat of Harren the Black. But he had never seen the North.

A cold look from his father told him that he was taking too long. He bowed hastily and took his seat. To his irritation, they all looked surprised to see him there so early in the morning – as surprised as Rhaegar.

"What are we talking about today?" he asked.

"Your sister's marriage," the King said levelly, his eyes fixing his son with the stern determination Duncan remembered from his grandfather – pointed at his father.

His first reaction was to say that there was no need for hurry. He started to open his mouth to say it – and then he remembered his determination to be a more responsible person and closed it.

"Nothing less than an heir of a Great House would do for the princess," the Master of Coin said. "A Lord Paramount would have been best but there is no one available. Lord Lannister does have a wife… Lord Tully is all but a babe…"

With relief that, for a moment, took away all his senses, Duncan realized that by some miracle, it wasn't _his_ wedding that they were discussing. No doubt, there would soon be a similar conversation with him as the topic but for now, it was Rhaelle's turn.

"The Prince of Dorne already has an heir…"

 _And with a Dornish Hand of the King married to Aunt Daella, we cannot give Dorne Rhaelle, as well,_ Duncan thought.

"What about Robar Baratheon?" he asked.

His friend was the heir to Storm's End, a formidable warrior who was more than worthy of a royal marriage. And the relations between the Stormlands and King's Landing could use some warming up. The Seven knew that Duncan's grandfather had been anything but cordial to Baratheons.

King Aegon looked aside. Alor Gargalen stared hard at the documents in front of him. Stunned, Duncan realized that they were set against the idea. Sure, they might accept it at the end but it would never be a match they would want for Rhaelle.

Old wounds healed hard.

"Robar isn't like that," Duncan said. "He isn't even related directly to Aunt Daella's husband. And Rhaelle will live with him gladly, I know."

The King stared out of the window. The Hand didn't look up from his papers. Duncan realized that all those talks of love made them feel uncomfortable, as if they hadn't both wed for love. The change filled his heart with profound sadness – and fear.

* * *

The roar of the monster was deafening, its grey-green body swelled menacingly, ready to sweep all over the city. High above the Red Keep, Alaenys watched it rage and scream, and feared that it would break free any minute now, extinguishing them all while the smoky sky fell over them and crushed them.

"The last time the sea almost came over the embankment was at King Aerys' death," a voice said next to her. "The day my lord grandfather returned from the battlefield to claim his crown. Many said it was a bad omen, although the city was not actually flooded."

She hadn't heard Jaehaerys' footsteps on the stairs until he came to stand next to her in the top chamber of the tall narrow tower. "There aren't such winters in Tyrosh," she said. "I… I am not used to it."

"The winter sea?" he asked.

She nodded. "I don't trust it. It bears a different face in winter – a face I don't like."

Jaehaerys gave her a long look, so keen that it startled her. "Yes," he said. "A face of death and sorrow, a face of loss. But that's how seasons change and so they must. The fields must go bare and the birds must stop singing, and the sea must show its winter face of storms and loss, and broken hopes – the one you so hate. That's how it is and one day, you might even welcome winter." His eyes were bright and serious, his voice a soothing embrace. "Because without winter, we can never hope for spring."

_And do you hope for spring?_

The question almost came out of her mouth before she stopped herself. The long winter seemed to be harder on Jaehaerys than anyone else, giving way to a myriad of ailments. All the luxuries in the Red Keep could not make up for the lack of fresh air, the lack of sunlight.

Did he realize it? Did he hope for spring, or did he pray that he would _live_ to see a new spring, just a single one? The thought of a spring without Jaehaerys was suddenly too much to bear.

"Always," he said and smiled. And she believed him.

For a while, they stood there staring at the ice grey of the sea. There was a silence between them but it was not crushing them – it was actually soothing. They had seen each other at their weakest. They did not need to fill the silence wit small conversations.

"Come on," Jaehaerys finally said. "I want to show you something."

When his fingers brushed her shoulder at fastening her coat more tightly, Alaenys almost reached to keep them in place, so nice was his care.

When she realized where he was leading her, her body tensed with anticipation of something bad that she knew was entirely irrational. Once, she had loved visiting the glass garden every day to pick up winter roses for the late Queen Aelinor's bath. She hadn't set a foot there for the last five years, since she had dropped the roses at the sight of the Queen dead, drown in her own bath.

Jaehaerys slowed down, giving her time to compose herself. She drew breath and stepped over the threshold.

The last batch of winter roses had shriveled and died long ago, as she had already heard. Jaehaerys led her along a lace of a path between rows of what had once been flowers. Alaenys gasped and gripped his hand more tightly in wonder at the sight of the single blue crown that had grown out of nowhere, a single flower coming into leaf long after all the others had died.

And outside, under the low sky with amethyst shade stealing from beneath the suffocating grey, the Red Keep's bats were waking from their winter hibernation.


	6. Chapter 6

The lengths of fabrics covered all the tables, every single coffer, and even a part of the floor, creating a multicoloured carpet of joy. Rhaelle and her companions were going through the various options for her gown for the wedding that would take place only two months later. Rhaelle felt like she had been waiting forever when in truth, it had been four months only! To live with Robar, to share his bed and his thoughts – sometimes she felt like it was a dream she would be woken up from quite forcefully.

She looked at the turquoise silk and hesitated. The colour would bring her golden-silvery hair out but it would clash with the deep violet of her eyes. She looked at the other girls who were just as helpless.

"The red one," her cousin cried out. "The red one, Rhaelle! You are the most beautifulest girl when in red."

To please Myara, Rhaelle took the length of crimson velvet and held it to her face. The little girl was quite right and everyone gasped and started praising her.

In the looking-glass, Rhaelle saw how Myara writhed to be let free of Alaenys' arms and climbed down her lap, only to howl with pain. Alaenys immediately took her back and the others came to see what the matter was.

"Hush, hush, little one," Alaenys murmured. "It's over now, it's over."

She was rubbing the girl's waist and thigh. Rhaelle sighed. A dark shadow fell over her happiness. After almost dying with fever about three months ago, Myara's spine had started deforming slowly but irreversibly. The child they had called the Lightning, for most of all she loved running around the Red Keep, was losing the fluidity of her movements, although she was too young to understand what was happening to her. But one day, she would. And the deformations the Maesters predicted would be probably visible to everyone. A chill crept down Rhaelle's own spine at the memory of Queen Aelinor.

 _They shouldn't have named the babe after Aunt Aelinor_ , she thought superstitiously. To her own aunt, the Queen Dowager had been the closest thing to a mother Daella remembered and albeit she had been the grandmother Rhaelle herself had never had, now she could not get rid of the thought that Daella and Alor had invited bad fortune over their four-month old newborn.

"Was Prince Jaehaerys your brother like this when you were little?" Alaenys asked all of a sudden.

Rhaelle's eyes shone. With a great show of enthusiasm, she started talking about how wonderful Jaehaerys had always been.

The day was rolling over and the fabrics lay discarded while Rhaelle kept telling her tales. She had been watching Alaenys for a very long time for signs of seeing Jaehaerys as a man and not a prince. She knew that Jaehaerys was interested in her, had been in years – and right before the decision about her wedding had been made, she had started to hope that he'd finally make some advances. His interest seemed to have grown but there was still nothing. His eyes followed Alaenys wherever she went. He was always attentive to her often unspoken needs. And yet…

It pained Rhaelle to watch what was going on. Duncan, with his new sense of responsibility, was trying his own advances on Alaenys – and she seemed to react _too_ well. He would not marry her, of course, and she did not really expect it. But he was courting her as if she had a choice – and she had loved him for so long that Rhaelle was scared that she would make a wrong one.

After all, their parents had to allow Jaehaerys to wed for love. They had to. He was not the heir. Many Houses would be thrilled to forge a link to the royal family through marriage but the rumours about Jaehaerys' frailty were circulating all around the Seven Kingdoms. Most of the heads of Houses didn't really expect the marriage of Jaehaerys to their respective daughters to last long – all they hoped was grandsons with Targaryen blood before death claimed Jaehaerys. As much as she hated herself for that, Rhaelle did not expect that he'd live to grow old either. She feared that he wouldn't. It wouldn't shock anyone if he wed for love. No one would feel this cheated. Not as much as it would, was it Duncan anyway.

In the short pauses she took to catch her breath, she looked at her little cousin and wondered whether she'd suffer the same fate Jaehaerys suffered. For a woman, there were few things worse than sustaining damage to her beauty. All the rumours she had heard about Aelinor Targaryen came rushing back to Rhaelle's mind. The late Queen Dowager had been called a sorceress, a poisoner who had enslaved King Maekar, her brother. There could not possibly be any other explanation why a woman deformed with illness and age, a woman who had lost her looks, could keep the King at her side for all those years. A few times, Rhaelle had noticed things that showed her that even Aelinor herself had been insecure in Maekar's fidelity, although as strange as it was, she had not seemed to doubt his devotion to her. Such was their world. One day, if Myara had the luck to find happiness with her husband, she'd be rumoured about the means she used; if he flaunted mistresses, it would be considered normal because of her looks. There would be no win for Myara.

Jaehaerys didn't like to talk about his health and didn't show interest in what people had to say about him. Yet sometimes Rhaelle caught him unprepared and he revealed how deeply the words he overheard hurt him, how painful a wound Duncan could deal him with a single remark – not a malicious one but inconsiderate, disparaging. Rhaelle doubted he would ever see himself the way she saw him, that he'd ever believe how wonderful he was. Why should he believe that a girl he knew had been infatuated with Duncan for years would see him this way?

There was still hope. Alaenys might look at Duncan with newfound respect right now – but she no longer stared after him wistfully, dressing him up as the knight from all her romantic dreams. Rhaelle had been clinging to hope – and she could now see that she had been right all along. She saw it in the way Alaenys' eyes lit up whenever Jaehaerys was mentioned while Duncan's name attracted no more than a flitting interest, as if it were nice to hear about him because he was charming and amusing but Alaenys was not that immersed at all.

 _It's Jaehaerys' turn now_ , Rhaelle thought and a part of her enthusiasm faded. How she hated to pick sides!

* * *

_Later in the evening…_

"Are there rose gardens at Storm's End?" Rhaelle asked breathlessly after she drew back from their passionate kiss.

Robar looked as if he was considering the answer. She knew he was only teasing her – it was just a yes or no, hardly a matter that needed any consideration.

"I cannot believe I let you take me here," she murmured, looking down at her slippers. From the beginning of their walk till now they had been magically transformed: from lovely creation of red velvet and silver embroidery, they had turned into cloth-covered torture instruments. Oh, and full of mud, as well.

He grinned. "I love the sky and air after a storm," he said.

"You would," she murmured.

Robar leaned down – her horrified gasp alerted him not to kneel in the mud – and inspected her slippers. He tried to clean one of them with a cloth he took out of his pocket and then reached to clean Rhaelle's foot.

She immediately tried to kick him. "Just because I agreed to accompany you on this secret walk, it still doesn't mean you can take certain liberties," she snapped.

Robar only blinked and looked at the indigo-streaked sky, as if he hoped the answer was written there. She certainly didn't mind his kisses – but touching her _foot_ was a liberty now?

Rhaelle sighed and shook her head. "Leave it at that. They'll get dirty again the moment I step back down."

She waited until Robar rose and then she leaned down and took her feet out of the slippers. It was quite nice to wriggle them in the cool spring mud. "I'll walk like this," she declared, taking the slippers in hand.

Robar spared a brief thought for the washerwomen and leaned back against her. "I'll have a rose garden planted at Storm's End," he promised. "A lovely garden for my lovely lady wife. For you, my Princess."

They started making their way back to Maegor's Holdfast when Rhaelle suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. Instinctively, Robar lowered his voice. "What? What is it?"

"Hush," she whispered back.

The chestnut tree hid them from view, the falling dusk also helped. With some growing uneasiness, Robar realized what had stopped her – and what she clearly intended to do. In the small lawn in front of them, Jaehaerys sat silently, watching at Alaenys walking little Myara over. The girl tugged at Alaenys' hand, trying to get free.

Rhaelle expected of him to spy on Jaehaerys and the Blackfyre girl. For all his rough humour and well-deserved reputation of a good tease, Robar never spied on his friends. He was sure he could never look Jaehaerys in the eye again… but Rhaelle didn't seem to harbor such misgivings. She watched hungrily, her eyes gleaming.

"You'll fall down, my lady," Alaenys warned.

"Let her go," Jaehaerys said, his tone as pleasant as ever. "She needs to make her own steps."

Alaenys gave him a look of surprise. "Even so. She'll fall down in the mud – and her leg is unstable already…"

"Is not!" Myara cried out and clumsily tried to stomp it. "Is not unstable!"

"Let go off her," Jaehaerys said again. Alaenys reluctantly did and the little girl's screams stopped as she made her way to Jaehaerys – and of course, she fell down, just like Alaenys had warned.

Robar made a step to help her but Rhaelle caught his hand and looked him in the eyes. "No," she mouthed silently in the dusk.

Now, every eye around there was fixed on Myara who managed to rise and kept walking determinedly towards Jaehaerys. When she reached him, he leaned over and lifted her at the bench next to him. Alaenys came near. "Are you happy now?" she asked, an angry note in her voice. "She should be careful… and so should you, for that matter. The storm was a cold one."

He looked up. A wry smile curved his lips. "Then you should go back inside. Invalids we might be but we can still find our way back before we freeze to death."

She looked stricken. "I didn't mean…"

"Oh, I have no doubt that you didn't," he snapped. Mesmerized, Rhaelle watched the anger and bitterness interchanging on his face. Even Myara had gone quiet, looking from Alaenys to Jaehaerys and back. "Go away, Alaenys. Go to your knight in shining armour. Take a stroll around the garden with him. Maybe tonight, you'll finally give him what he's wanted all along. Just don't expect that he'll wed you. Because he won't."

Alaenys'gasp was so loud that Rhaelle was stunned the whole Red Keep didn't hear it.

"You're as cruel as he was. I didn't expect it of you."

"Why not?" Jaehaerys asked mockingly. "We are brothers. Surely there must be _some_ similarities between us."

She looked down. "I'll take Lady Myara to her mother," she said.

"I'll take her," Jaehaerys said. "I can find my way through the Red Keep, I assure you. _That_ , I am really good at."

 _Go away_ , Rhaelle called silently. _Please go away. You cannot reach him now. No matter what you say, he'll take it in the worst way possible._

Slowly, Alaenys headed for the other end of the lawn. Three times, she turned to look at him and three times he refused to look back. Rhaelle could see Jaehaerys' heart in his eyes and Alaenys' in hers – but they could not see each other's. Suddenly faint, she turned back and leaned her head against the strong body of her betrothed, the man she loved, the man who she knew loved her. He held her soothingly.

"Oh Robar," she murmured against his chest. "How lucky I am, how very lucky…"


	7. Chapter 7

Rhaelle Targaryen was the most beautiful bride King's Landing had seen in a long time – or at least, since the day of her aunt Daella's wedding to another Baratheon, as old people whispered, hurrying to pray that this princess would be luckier than her predecessor. The crimson gown glittering with small flowers of diamonds accentuated her smooth complexion and the luster of her hair. Little Myara was very proud that she had been the one to choose the fabric. Actually, she had been the one to draw the flower pattern, as well; looking at her, Rhaelle thought that should they fall from power, the little imp could make a good living as a seamstress. A child of Targaryen blood who could actually _do_ something! The thought made her giggle.

"Are you going to tell me what's so funny?" her husband asked. Rhaelle turned her head and sank into his deep blue eyes.

"From now on, I'm going to tell you everything," she promised and then quickly reconsidered. "Or almost."

He let out a booming laughter and raised his hands in comical terror. "Please don't."

She huffed and stared determinedly at her plate, trying to contain her giggles. She already felt as if she had been wed to him for decades. Wise of him to build in time his fortifications against the horrifying prospect of being treated to retelling of women talk.

"I see the two of you already look like you have a fifty years of marriage behind you," someone spoke and the words echoed the thought that had crossed Rhaelle's mind just a moment ago so closely that she startled.

"Duncan," she said when she saw who it was. "What made you say it?"

He grinned, more than a little drunk. Rhaelle thought he looked really handsome in this black and green, his indigo eyes kinder than she had ever seen them…

"Why," he said, as if it were self-evident. "You aren't talking to each other already."

Rhaelle scowled and decided that he didn't look all that handsome, after all. And of course, his eyes were not really all that kind. It was just that in the day of her wedding, she saw everyone as better than they were…

All around them, the celebration was flowing – or rather, raging. The gentle melodies the bards had been playing at the beginning were decidedly making room for more indecent ones. Goblets were being raised. Women chattered, men laughed, everyone dressed in their best. Stormland lords were clearly delighted that the unacknowledged but very obvious rift with the Crown had finally been mended. The great hall was fragrant with various perfumes. Jewels sparkled in the light of the thousands candles. A huge oval candelabrum hung over the dais and created the impression that the sun itself was shining upon bride and groom. Rhaelle looked down at her plate and for a hundredth time tried to guess what it was that she was eating. She was fairly certain that it was some kind of meat but so soft and melting in her mouth that it could be some kind of cream… or maybe it was wrapped in cream? She peered more closely and got nothing. She could not recognize even the spices but she knew she liked them. The cooks had outdone themselves.

"Hey, why the scowl?" Duncan asked innocently and she glared at him openly.

"You know why."

"All right," he admitted. "What about taking the boys off your back and escorting them to their rooms? Will you love me again if I do it for you?"

Rhaelle wouldn't have been more surprised if he had declared that he was leaving for Ulthos to hunt a dragon to present her with. Now, that was a knightly and noble deed…

"You would do it?" she asked. She had to be certain. "All of them?"

"All glorious three of them," he confirmed and Rhaelle breathed a sigh of relief. Their brother Aemon and their younger cousins Rhaegar and Carral, Daella's youngest son, were quickly gaining their reputation of the _glorious three_ which was just a tactful way to say _the terrible three_. Each time something malfunctioned in the Red Keep, be it the Small Council's fireplace being unable to lit or the poultry in the kitchen finding its way to the kitchen garden before cooks could butcher it, the glorious three names' came to everyone's mouth, no matter whether the boys had been around or not. Rhaelle had expected their contribution to this night's festivities with more than a little horror…

"My brave knight," she murmured and Duncan grinned, delighted to be forgiven. Still, Rhaelle kept her eyes on him as he shepherded the boys off. It felt so strange to think that he might have been the groom to this wedding. She had no doubt that her mood would have been vastly different.

Servants started clearing the tables and dragging them against the walls to make room for dancing. As usual, Rhaelle was surprised at what a graceful dancer Robar was, feeling every movement of her body and immediately adjusting his own movements against hers. She felt his hand creeping down her back as they turned and it was clear what he hoped for. Some things did not change. She looked up at him, smiled sweetly and shook her torso and his hand away with it. He'd have to wait until they were alone in her bedchamber… no, the _bridal_ chamber. Which didn't stop him from stealing a kiss that she could have avoided and didn't.

It was well late into the night when she wandered out of the din of the great hall to take some fresh air. As cheerful as the celebration was, she felt that she was suffocating in the huge closed chamber heavy with the warmth – and smell! – of dancing sweating bodies. She crossed a small hallway leading to a side hall, considerably smaller, its other door hiding an outer staircase opening into a flower garden. Rhaelle headed straight for one of the marble benches and with a moan of pain and relief kicked off the instruments for torture that passed for her slippers and gave them a critical look in the moonlight. Now, they looked two sizes bigger for her wine-and-dance-swollen feet. She breathed in, just taking the stillness in and relishing it, wondering about what would follow when she and Robar would be finally left in her – _their_ chamber…

The sudden echo of footsteps startled her. Her heart beating wildly, she looked up in panic, suddenly realizing that should she cry out, no one in the hall would hear her over the din. The Red Keep was filled with all kind of people, lords and knights arriving with their retinues for the festivities… Then, with a sigh of relief, she recognized the old man.

"I am sorry, Your Grace," he said. "I didn't want to scare you."

"You haven't," she managed.

He laughed softly. "Oh I have but you're too tactful to say so. That's one of the advantages of old age. There are very few of those, I assure you, so I am very much enjoying this one."

Rhaelle giggled. "You ran away, too?"

Ser Galend nodded. "When I was young, I quite liked such feasts. Now, not so much, albeit this one is different." He paused. "I've seen quite a few royal weddings and very few of them were happy occasions. You are very fortunate, Princess."

Rhaelle nodded, sober all of a sudden. "They compare my wedding to my aunt's," she said.

He considered this. "There is a great resemblance," he said and her heart sank. She didn't need to hear about bad omens and dark resemblances. She wanted to think that it would work for them.

"Were _all_ of those weddings you've witnessed unhappy?" she asked.

He looked uncertain, trying to summon all his memories. Silvered by the moonlight, he looked ancient, as if he had always been there. He _had_ been, for as long as Rhaelle could remember. How many things he had seen – and kept silent about?

"Yes," he finally said, reluctantly. "Prince Baelor wed Lady Lyselle a few years after I came to Westeros and while neither of them was averse to the match, she was very scared, still unused to the world. I saw Prince Aerys and Princess Aelinor wed… then your grandparents… And I was at Sunspear when Princess Daenaerys wed Prince Maron. Now, that was a match no one expected to work, and yet it did."

Once again, Rhaelle shuddered at the thought of the looming danger that she had escaped. She had no doubt that she and Duncan never would have been happy.

Ser Galend saw her shiver and took it the wrong way, reaching to unfasten his cloak but she stopped him. "Were my grandparents so unhappy with each other?" she asked.

"In the beginning? Yes," he said immediately. "I don't know about her but I do know that my lord never wished to wed her. But he was always mindful of his duty, so he went on with the wedding, giving her all the attention and traditional gifts that were expecting of him." He looked at her and smiled slightly, the stars above shining in his eyes. "Do you know that the bracelet you're wearing used to belong to your grandmother?"

Surprised, Rhaelle looked down at the magnificent weaving of golden threads interwoven with changing rubies and diamonds. She had just fished it out of the old coffers when trying to decide what to wear. She had never seen anyone wearing it – not her mother, not her aunt, and certainly not Queen Aelinor who had had lots of gems. King Maekar had kept making her such gifts even when she no longer led any public life and rarely wore them, simply because she had always loved jewels. "No. I didn't know."

"That was the first gift he made her on his own will, a few years after their wedding," Ser Galend said. "Not because he was expected to but because he wanted to. Later, she gave it away with the rest of her jewels for treatment of the sick during the Blackfyre rebellion, hoping to invoke the Seven's mercy. Many years later, your grandfather came across the bracelet being offered to the highest bidder. He was that bidder," Ser Galend ended up. "As far as I know, that's one of the very few jewels of the Princess' that found its way here."

Starlight turned the bracelet into a flowing river of scarlet and white. Rhaelle stared at it and thought about the grandmother she had never met. How had she felt, being wed to a man who had not wanted her? How had all her ancestresses felt? Rhaelle had grown up surrounded by love – her parents loved each other, as well as her aunt Daella and her husband Alor Gargalen. And no matter what wagging tongues claimed, what had bonded her grandfather and Queen Aelinor together had not been sorcery. It had been love. Somehow, Rhaelle had always expected the same for herself, never stopping to think that while love was all she knew, it was also the exception. Far more royals had entered unwanted matches, for duty trumped all and so it should.

She put her slippers back on and rose, suddenly eager to return to the hall with its headache-inducing, deafening, _cheerful_ noise, to find Robar and make sure that it was all real.

"Your Grace," Ser Galend called after her.

She turned back. "Yes?"

He was smiling. "About your lady aunt's wedding… I am afraid I might have given you the wrong impression. It was her _second_ one that I was thinking about. It was not as great as this one but it was more like it."

Rhaelle laughed aloud, came back, threw her arms around the old man and gave him a sound kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said.

He shook his head regretfully. "You are no lady, Rhaelle Targaryen," he said but his eyes twinkled.

"That's right," she agreed. "Fortunately, my lord doesn't demand of me to be one. Are you coming back to the hall?"

The great hall was just as crowded, rumbling, and smelly as she had left it. This time, though, Rhaelle did not care. She looked around for Robar, found him, headed towards him for a last dance but when she reached him, he only grinned at her apologetically. "I am sorry, my lady," he said. "But I am already taken. A lady invited me and I could not refuse…"

Her eyebrows raised high, Rhaelle followed him going to the dancing floor with her aunt. Finally, when she could no longer bite it in, the smile of delight split her face in two.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for each and every review this story got! Thank you, Riana1 and Baelorfan, for showing your constant interest, you help me keep my own.

The sickness wrapped King's Landing, the Red Keep, and Maegor's Holdfast in its fiery cloak. High fevers, sore eyes, congestions, and all among them tortured both children and adults. Open windows did little to dilute the heat. Indeed, they might contribute to it since the very air was hot and stifling. The sun splashed arrows of fire all over them. Prince Aemon contracted it, his younger cousins had also caught it, so the royal nursery was full of feverish, irritable children.

"The spring was too short," the Hand of the King said when he came to the royal nursery to see how the children were faring. "And summer came all of a sudden."

"It will pass soon," Rhae answered. "It looks that most people recover without any consequences."

It was a statement of fact – the plague did not seem to lead to death, in the vast majority of cases. But it was also a vain attempt to set her sister's mind at ease. Daella did not seem to hear her. She sat in a chair holding her youngest who was burning and whimpering in the dampened cloth they had wrapped her in. High fever was common for babes anyway but the sickness had brought Aelinor to a state where Rhae, herself a mother of four and having witnessed numerous childhood illnesses, both her own children's and Daella's, thought there might as well be a fire crackling under her small niece's fair delicate skin. After Myara's terrifying clash with death not a year ago, Daella was now out of her mind with worry.

Alaenys Blackfyre came near with a big fan and started waving it against the little girl's tiny body. Gradually, Aelinor's crying lessened in volume and her huge eyes started drooping. She was a lovely child, not a year old yet, and unlike most of Daella and Alor's others, she had inherited the Targaryen looks of pale skin and paler hair yet. Her irises changed colour in all shades of purple; right now, they resembled amethysts, so enormous that they almost swallowed the white.

"Aegon intends to transfer ownership of Harrenhall," Alor said. His eyes went to his wife who didn't give a hint that she was interested at all in his presence – her worry for the child had consumed her.

The Queen looked at him. "He didn't tell me." There was surprise in her voice.

Alor shrugged. "It's a relatively new thing." He paused. "He doesn't mean to transfer it to another Lothston, though."

 _Good for him_ , Alaenys thought. She knew an Elfrad Lothston from the Golden Company and she wouldn't trust him with a rat, let alone a castle… even as ruined one as people said Harrenhall was.

Rhae went to close the curtains in front of the opened windows in the vain hope of blocking off some of the heat. "I cannot say I am surprised," she said. "Lady Danelle was a good and true ally of ours but the rest of them… Every time a Lothston is born, the gods throw a coin and wait for it to stop spinning… until his or her death."

"One can never know where he stands with them," he agreed. "Now the current Lord Lothston assures us of his loyalty but Aegon isn't sure…"

"I am sure." Daella's eyes glinted, revealing that she hadn't been as isolated within herself as she had seemed. "They are not to be trusted. Father believed that they could – and we saw what it brought him. Aegon would be a fool indeed to repeat this mistake."

The fan stopped its movement as Alaenys stared at the Princess in stunned surprise. Daella looked weary and bedraggled, her hair hanging in dirty locks. She smelled of sweat, sickness, and fear. But the bags under her eyes suddenly looked paler compared to the fire burning in these indigo orbs. The girl had rarely heard her raise her voice, to anyone. While the King and Queen's passions burned, Princess Daella had always been a nice warming flame. _But the Lothstons did betray King Maekar and that led to his death. I suppose that's beyond the limit of her profound goodwill_ , Alaenys reasoned, recognizing the same fire she had seen in her menfolk's eyes when they talked about how the Falseborn's line had cheated them out of their birthright.

Rhae nodded curtly. "Does he have someone in mind?" she turned to her goodbrother as he drew a finger across Aelinor's cheek. The babe's eyes finally closed in a brief moment of sleep.

"Niclas Whent," he said. "And he'll bestow a lordship upon him."

Rhae cast a glance at her sister but Daella was looking at the children again, leaving Aelinor in her bed and wringing out a cloth for Aemon's forehead. Whatever brief interest she had had in Harrenhall had gone away as soon as she had been assured that the attainder would affect not only the current Lord Lothston but the entire House.

"A reasonable choice," she said. Whent was a knightly House, known for their loyal service and the lack of prospects for the younger ones of Ser Niclas numerous sons. "Now that we have peace, it's time for everyone to remember that the dragon's mercy is not endless." She sighed. "I hope he waits for the plague to die out before he invites him for the ceremony," she said, planning for it already. Bestowing a lordship was always accompanied by much pomp. Her aunt had taught her how to play her part, although Aelinor herself had never played it through Maekar's reign – for all her influence and the fact that their relationship had been in plain view, she had never taken the role of the principal lady at court, leaving it to Rhae. "I am not quite prepared to have guests… and the Seven know that the maesters have more than their fair share of sick ones to tend already."

Their voices were soft, not to disturb the children. Alaenys looked at Daella who nodded at her that she could stop wielding the fan, so she did and rubbed her stiff hand and arm. Another nod told her that she could leave and she gratefully accepted the chance to go out, into the sweltering heat of the gardens.

With the sickness and the fact that it was midday, most of the inhabitants of the Red Keep kept to their chambers or at least inside one of the buildings. The pale red stone kept the heat at bay to some extent, so Alaenys found herself alone as she wandered by flowerbeds and fountains – shaped as dragons, of course – that spread lovely small droplets of freshness. She sat down on a bench and lilted her face up for the kiss of the sun. It was so wonderful to be away from all those sick children. She remembered her own clashes with such sicknesses – one could hardly avoid them if they lived in Essos. She had been thoroughly miserable then but by the Mother, what was happening here was no better, by any means! Tending to the sick children was almost as exhausting as being a sick child yourself.

Suppressed laughter and sounds of kisses shook her out of her bliss. Not far away, in the shadow of a huge tree with leaves that had been green in the beginning of the summer, Arianne Martell and Alric Gargalen, both thirteen, as far as she knew, who had arrived from Dorne for Princess Rhaelle's wedding a few moons ago and stayed here for a while, were making short work of laying the foundations of their future marriage. Playing at kissing. And by the looks of it, it wasn't their first time, either. Alaenys was willing to bet that in their wedding night, there would be no blood on the sheets. After all, the event was planned for the time they would be both sixteen…

A soft chuckle made her look up. Blood rushed to her face. The Mother help her, but she was just as bedraggled as Princess Daella, with just as disheveled hair and stinking just as sourly. There wasn't even the slightest breeze coming to her aid.

Jaehaerys sat down next to her. He, also, looked tired and flushed. But his eyes did not glow with the radiance of fever – they were deep and calm and Alaenys felt a rush of relief.

"How are they faring?" he asked.

She shrugged. "They don't enjoy it. But it'll get better. Such sicknesses look scarier than they are. I remember it from Essos."

He gave her a look of surprise. It didn't happen often that she spoke of her old life. "Do you miss it?" he asked.

Alaenys hesitated, unsure how to respond. With the sun turning his hair into a silver helmet, he was suddenly no longer the young prince she had grown up around, neither the young man that attracted her more and more, for he was a good man in the making. He was a Targaryen. Maekar's grandson. The memory of her first meeting with the now dead king came roaring to her mind, the fear that had wrapped her like a bathwater. She had to tread carefully.

She would not lie, though. And he wouldn't believe her anyway – he was too smart. "Sometimes," she said and looked aside. Unfortunately, that led her eyes to Alric and Arianne who were keeping on with their occupation quite enthusiastically, blissfully unaware that they now had audience. Arianne's laughter rang out and Alric shook his head in playful rebuke. She mended the situation by drawing his face closer for another kiss.

Alaenys' fingers squeezed a handful of her dress in tight fists. Her lips became thin, her face pale all of a sudden. "Alaenys?" Jaehaerys asked, suddenly afraid. "What's wrong? Is it the fever?"

She rose angrily and spun around to face him. "No," she spat. Vaguely, she was aware that she wasn't making sense but she could not help herself. And it was not Jaehaerys that she was seeing. It was her father, her uncle Haegon, that dour old bastard Bittersteel, King Maekar, Daemon Blackfyre and Daeron the Good, or the Falseborn, or whatever – all those men who had marked her life with the stain of stigma, uncertainty, and fear, who had led to her being sold to a man's bed when she still hadn't had her first flux, let alone been a woman.

"Damn it!" she cried out in helpless anger at the gods themselves. "I am only half a woman. Do you realize how I felt as I watched your sister and Lord Baratheon at their wedding? They laugh, they share caresses when they think no one is watching them, they flirt as if they had just fell in love. And I… At the very thought of a man's hands upon me I want to… Do you realize that I never had what those two have?" She didn't need to point at Arianne and Alric, Jaehaerys understood her even so. "Of course you don't! You've had your early experiences – and not so early ones!" she added angrily. For all the men he embodied to her, a tiny part of her recognized that he was also Jaehaerys and wanted to throttle all those silly ladies who made moon eyes at him. "How can you know what it feels like to have all of this taken from you by a huge lout before you even had the chance to experience it?"

The words flew out as if she had vomited them, sour, and bitter, and jealous, and envious, and so very helpless. With them, the feeling of being drained came, that she might just sicken and die here, in this garden, under this bright sun, with not an ailment in her body. Silently, she spun around and started walking away, leaving him to stare at her in utter surprise.

When she heard his steps behind her, she whirled about once again. "Won't you leave me alone?" she spat.

"I won't," he said and caught her by the shoulders.

"Let me go," she said angrily, for he was pitying her and that, she could never accept or forgive.

His grip became tighter. "If those two can do what they want to, then so can I."

There was something in his eyes that made her melt, something that made the fight go off her. "Is it so?" she whispered. "And what do you want to do, Your Grace?"

"Kiss you," he replied. "Like this…"

Deep inside, Alaenys knew that she wasn't his first – she had seen him with other girls and while her views had only been limited only to kissing and highly inappropriate touches, she felt that his experience wasn't limited to that. But it did not matter. She had dreamed of this moment for so long…

Her body went tense. _Not now_ , she thought desperately. _Not with him._ But it wasn't something she could control. She clenched her fists to resist the impulse to push him away, the memory of the husband forced on her when she had seen just ten namedays falling like a mask in front of her eyes, chasing away the face she so loved.

Jaehaerys let her go and held her, rubbing her back. "All is fine," he murmured as she fought her tears, and held her at an arm's lenght. "I can wait. As long as it takes. Just don't give up."

"I won't," she promised huskily. "Come what may, soon I _will_ return your affections the way we both want me to." And she clung to him once again, wanting to never let go. "What a fool I was," she whispered. "You were always here, yet I never saw you. I didn't notice you at all, not while Duncan was around."

"It's been nothing new," he said softly. "I am hardly noticeable when he is in the way. Still, if there was ever someone I wanted to see me, it was you."

 _He won't wed you_ , Jaehaerys had told her all those months ago in a fit of jealousy and anger. Well, neither would Jaehaerys himself. He would have to make a better match than a war prize from a family of an attainted traitors. In fact, Alaenys' situation would differ from what Duncan offered her only in one thing: she'd be the mistress of the second son, instead of the Prince of Dragonstone. No doubt the world would take it as a proof that she had inherited the Targaryen madness.

But Jaehaerys loved her in a way Duncan never could. He would wed a noble lady and would give her his name. his protection, his children, his respect, for this was just the kind of man he was. But his heart would belong to Alaenys alone. And that was all she cared about.

She looked up, straight in his eyes, and smiled. "I won't see anyone else from now on," she breathed. "Never."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay. Thanks to everyone who left a feedback, it means a lot indeed.

Embroidery was a pastime Alaenys quite enjoyed. In Tyrosh, she had been fascinated with the fine fabrics, as light as fluff, yet bearing the weight of clouds and flowers, human faces and magical beasts. She had been quite unpleasantly surprised that learning to hold a needle meant pricked fingers but now, after many years of practicing it, she had gotten the mastery of creating beauty and staying unharmed… almost.

This afternoon, she wanted to repeat the pattern of the oak branch reaching into the royal nursery when the shutters weren't closed. There was something about the different shades of green and the play of light and shadows that was deserving of being recreated. She only had to be quiet, as not to wake the only child young enough to still need her afternoon nap… and also stubborn enough to cry each time her mother or the handmaidens tried to put her in her cradle to sleep.

Today, though, little Aelinor Gargalen was producing some very peculiar noises. The memory of the fever flashed in Alaenys' mind and she tiptoed to the cradle, scared of what she would see.

Malice, Princess Daella's cat, had somehow found her way to the nursery and now slept atop the sleeping infant, only her ears and a part of the muzzle sticking out from beneath the small blanket . The weird sounds Alaenys had heard had been, in fact, the very normal purr of a cat. Alaenys smiled and her heart melted. Of course, she knew that cats loved being warm and cosy but she had never thought that a sleeping child, almost a babe, might satisfy those conditions.

Aelinor murmured something in her sleep and snuggled the cat closer, her small fingers burying into the golden pelt. Instinctively, Alaenys reached out to take Malice away but stopped with her hand in the air. She realized that what she truly wanted was reach out, take both infant and cat and squeeze them until they shrieked with pain and pleasure, bury her nose into sweet-smelling skin and golden fluff and breathe them in. This desire was so fierce that it stabbed her like a pain in her extremities, an ache in her heart.

She slowly removed her hand, not quite sure what to do. For now, Aelinor and Malice were sharing the cradle smoothly but what if the little girl tugged at Malice's pelt or nose? The cat would surely react. _Why is she here at all_ , Alaenys wondered. Come to think of it, a soft bed with a warm infant to snuggle with should be a dream come true for many a cat. But she had never heard of Malice doing this with any babe before. Maybe she knew that Aelinor was Daella's.

Behind her, someone chuckled. She smiled and reached behind without looking. Jaehaerys squeezed her hand. "They are quite a sight, aren't they?" he whispered, as not to wake them up.

"Indeed," Alaenys agreed. "Why are you here?"

"Because I knew you would be."

"How…" she started and paused. He was right, in the last week or so they had always met here, every day. Was this the reason she had come here now? Had she been waiting for him? The doubled allure of Aelinor and Jaehaerys overcame her with joy and longing for something she would never have. Or would she? She had decided long ago that she'd share her life with Jaehaerys one day. Would she share children? Bastards?

Sometimes, she had wondered how women could knowingly choose to give birth to disadvantaged children. Now, she was starting to understand and that scared her.

Smiling, Jaehaerys moved to the other side of the cradle to make sure that Aelinor was covered but not overheated. The cat hissed threateningly, opening a glaring green eye.

"Peace," he murmured. "I am not here to harm her."

Malice did not trust him but when he removed his hand, she glared at him once again and content that she had made clear who the master here was, closed her eye again.

Alaenys and Jaehaerys looked at each other across the cradle and simultaneously decided not to kiss right now. Malice was well deserving of her name. She would not take the noise of a kiss meekly… and her claws were in dangerous proximity to Aelinor's face.

Jaehaerys returned at Alaenys' side. "Do you want to go out for a walk?" he asked. "Or would you rather stay here?"

Alaenys considered the options. With the news of the Golden Compamy stirring trouble in Essos once again, she had become a subject of all kind of rumours and suspicions at court, although not from the royal family. Every day, she thanked the Mother for that. But no, she would not feel comfortable out there in the open with Jaehaerys. Someone would see. Someone always saw. And she wanted to have her joy close to her heart, to cherish and enjoy it without the shadow of doubt and disapproval for as long as possible. She knew what would happen. A descendant of Daemon Blackfyre's could never become the wife of a Targaryen prince. Impossible was impossible. She had no expectations and no hopes. But she wanted to take whatever she could. And sitting here, with the little girl and the doting cat, with Jaehaerys – well, that was the perfect way to spend her afternoon now, in this day, at this moment.

"I'd rather stay here," she said.

Jaehaerys placed his hand at her waist and drew her close. She raised her face hungrily for a kiss. In the five months since their first kiss, they had come a long way where overcoming her fears was concerned. It was now she who would often make the first step, seek physical closeness. With the slow crumbling of her walls, a need arose, so intense that it overcame her. The need to be physically near to him, to hold onto him the whole time was a force that suffocated her. All her longing for closeness seemed to come out in the moments she was with him.

But it was not enough.

She drew back and stared at him intently. The summer was ending, maesters said, and autumn, with its alternating hot and cold days, let alone the humidity, was never a good thing for his lungs. She resisted the urge to ask him whether he had taken his potions, whether he would like some remedial tea. Although kind as usual, he would roll his eyes and say that he had a mother and didn't need another one, a warning note to his voice.

Was there any irritation in his face? Lately, Alaenys had started fearing that he'd finally turn his back on her. They had indeed achieved a lot where her fears were concerned. But whenever they tried to so something more than embraces and kisses, she would go tense and push him aside, for months already. She examined him fearfully, anxious that she would find anger and resignation in his expression. But she only found love in his calm purple eyes.

Outside, autumn graced them with a lovely day. The sun was sending its most glorious rays. The gardens were filled with the fragrances of flowers and bushes. Children's yells could be heard from the courtyards where they played. It was so peaceful.

"Soon, I'll be ready, Jaehaerys," Alaenys whispered and immediately realized that it was a mistake.

She had said it out of desire to keep him hopeful, not because she believed it. And he felt that. His purple eyes flashed like Duncan's in his fits of anger.

"Never," he said slowly and very coldly, "never lie to me. Do you hear me? Never say a lie because you think I would not bear to hear the truth. Don't build my hopes and expectations when you know you have to offer nothing but lies."

Her heart started pounding in her chest. This was one of the few instances when he scared her. She vaguely felt that it was not her that he was fighting, that he was trying to push away a ghost, smooth a wound that she did not know when and where he had sustained.

"Jaehaerys," she said. "I didn't mean… I only wanted to…"

"To feed me lies," he said. "Soothing lies, well-meant lies, no doubt… but lies anyway. I won't have it."

Despite the fact that they both kept their voices low, Aelinor stirred and whimpered. In her sleep, she had felt the tension. The cat opened glinting eyes.

Unceremoniously, Jaehaerys grabbed her before she could bristle and draw her claws into the nearest object – Aelinor. Malice scratched his hands but he carried her across the nursery, opened the door, and flung her outside, closing the door before she could race back.

"Your hand," Alaenys murmured and looked around for something to wipe the blood with.

Jaehaerys shook his head and simply drew his hand against the tunic on his belly. His anger seemed to have abated, but there was pain and disappointment in his eyes.

"Never pity me," he said. "I won't take it. Ever again."

She reached out. "Jaehaerys…"

He shook her hands off. "Don't touch me right now, I am not in the mood."

And he left the room, leaving her wondering what she had done wrong.

 


End file.
